


Make It Bad

by htebazytook



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Episode Related, M/M, Romance, Slash, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:45:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is there when Dean first wakes up handcuffed to the bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make It Bad

**Title:** Make It Bad  
 **Author:** htebazytook  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Warnings:** dub-con, violence, bondage, angst  
 **Disclaimer:** *disclaims*  
 **Pairing:** Dean/Castiel  
 **Time Frame:** during 5.18 Point of No Return  
 **Summary:** Castiel is there when Dean first wakes up handcuffed to the bed.

 

One minute, he's being kicked around a dark alleyway, the next he's being kicked around Bobby's panic room.

Dean covers his stinging cheek with his hand, squints through a headache at the unfocused world. "Did you just _slap_ me? What is this, 'Bad Girls Club' ?"

The blurry outline of flesh tones and blue tie and blue eyes on the edge of the bed begins to look familiar. Cas's glare feels physical.

"You're still looking at me like that," Dean says. It's kinda funny, really. And maybe a little bit bone-chilling.

Cas doesn't slap him this time – closed fist striking Dean's cheek _hard_ but at least there's a soft-ish mattress to cushion his fall this time instead of a damn brick wall.

Dean winces, sitting up. "Dude, don't you think I've had enough?" 

"No."

"Yeah, well, Sam and Bobby - "

"Aren't here," Cas says. Holy shit he is scary, simmering there in utter stillness in the shadows. "You don't answer to _them_."

Dean goes to rub a hand over his eyes but is thwarted by the realization that his right wrist is handcuffed to the metal bedframe. "Is this really necessary?"

"You are a flight risk, that is now indisputable," Cas says. "I foolishly believed that . . . you had some strength of will. Apparently, physical restraint is the only effective means of preventing you from giving yourself up to Michael."

Dean is so goddamn tired of this, all of this. He just laughs. "What's so bad about it anyway? No, I'm serious, because seems to me that somebody just said so once and everyone's forgotten the reason _why_. Just humor me, Cas, explain to me . . . _why_ is letting one of your douchey feathered entourage use me to save the world so horrible?"

"I made this argument to you before. At that time, you said you would rather endure the emotional hardships of a human life than languish in the illusion of paradise."

Dean raises his eyebrows. "Said it a lot catchier than that, but yeah . . . "

" _Nothing_ has changed since then aside from further demonstrations of the corruption among my brothers."

"I did it for you."

Cas eyes harden. "What."

"Look." Dean sits up a little better, just to make it so Cas isn't looking down on him quite so literally anymore. "You didn't see it, man. The future, when Zach _Mirror Mirror_ 'd me to 2014. It was . . . " Dean remembers how Cas had smiled more easily and less genuinely, broken down and resigned to do whatever he was told (not much better than when Dean had first met him), not giving a shit if he lived or died. And _Sam_ just . . . "It was hell on earth, Cas."

Cas mulls it over, then asks patiently, "And why do you believe that what Zachariah showed you is the true future?"

"It was . . . I mean it sucked. _Bad_. But, well, . . . yeah. I could see it happening."

"Because it reflected your fears?"

Dean sighs. "Yeah, I guess so."

"That is unsurprising. Zachariah has always taken an interest in human psychology. I suspect it is one of the reasons why he so despises your race."

"Okay, point taken, but he _could_ zap me into the future, right? You zapped me into the past – "

Cas's anger is on the rise. "You _saw_ what Gabriel could do. Zachariah is more limited, but bringing your fears to life is certainly within his capabilities. You are . . . " He looks away from Dean. "You are disappointing." It's weird to see so many emotions battling for dominance in him. His sagging shoulders, the tension in his jaw.

Dean clears his throat. "I'm sorry. Cas, I just – "

Cas moves suddenly, lunges into Dean and smashes their mouths together. It slams Dean back against the cold iron of the wall, makes Dean's head throb and the pressure of the kiss reminds him of his split lip.

"Your mouth tastes like blood," Cas says matter-of-factly, then fucking _licks_ it up.

Dean's voice comes out shaky: "Yeah, no thanks to you." 

But Cas is over the whole talking thing – he pushes Dean onto his back on the bed, seizes his free arm. Cas's tie appears in his hands, and he knots it around Dean's wrist and the chain holding the bed up.

Dean laughs. "Is _that_ really necessary?"

Cas leans in. "You tell me," he says. He takes off Dean's boots and socks and jeans and underwear with some residual roughness, takes a hold of Dean's hardening dick and tilts his head like he considers it a curiosity, gives it a few strokes before getting up from the bed and crossing the room to rummage through a metal bookshelf.

For a minute Dean wonders if Cas is planning to leave him there like that, hard and exposed in Bobby's panic room, but Cas comes back, flask in hand. He kneels between Dean's legs and Dean feels a slickened finger encircling his hole.

Dean cranes his neck to see. "What's . . . is _that_ \- ?"

"Holy oil."

Dean laughs. Then he grunts because Cas has pushed his finger past the ring of muscle, pushing in deep and curling it dazzlingly against Dean's prostate. And Cas must have done something angely too, because he seems able to stretch Dean open pretty goddamn quickly. 

There's the jangle of Cas's belt coming off and his fly unzipping, then the metallic sound of Dean's handcuffs when Cas tugs Dean's hips closer and sinks impatiently inside him. It does hurt, but it feels good at that part of each thrust when Cas brushes against his prostate so Dean tries to arc into that but Cas doesn't care – he holds Dean where he wants him and fucks him so hard and it tears ragged pleasure-drunk noises from Cas's throat so Dean doesn't care either. 

There's an aspect to being hurt that feels good and Dean won't bother denying that, especially when it's Cas, Cas who is fast becoming miserable in all the ways that Dean is while Dean has done nothing but contribute. 

Cas gasps loudly. He's so engrossed, looks so gorgeously human with muscles tensing and sweat at his hairline and the flush down his neck, top button of his shirt undone and Dean wants to lick the exposed skin there. Cas lifts one of Dean's legs up over his shoulder, pulling Dean further down the bed and testing his restraints – the tie cutting off circulation to his hand and the handcuffs digging cold into his wrist. 

Cas thrusts back into him and Dean moans so loud it echoes because _fuck_ that's a perfect angle. Cas growls and pushes Dean's t-shirt up, clawing at skin instead of caressing. He fucks Dean steadily, waits until Dean can't bite back his moans any longer before going faster, faster, _shit_ , fucking massaging those nerve endings or whatever and pounding so ruthlessly hard, making Dean hurtle toward orgasm so forcefully that all he can do is close his eyes choke on his cries and come for him.

Cas pulls out, after, letting Dean's leg drop to the mattress. He stays kneeling between Dean legs to jerk himself off, _so_ absorbed, eyes shut tightly and the sight of him lost in the selfishness of pleasure is mesmerizing. When he comes it gets all over Dean's chest and belly. When he looks up again his brutal blue gaze tears into Dean. 

Cas lies on top of him, smearing come everywhere and kissing Dean deeply. Begging and sensuous and at odds with the roughness of the mere minutes previous. Dean moans and licks along Cas's tongue, sucks it into his mouth and feels Cas's fingers stroking his hair soothingly. Dean feels more desperate for this-yes-this- _Cas_ than he had for an orgasm, feels caught up in the scent of him.

After dizzying long minutes of Cas's inescapable mouth and close harsh breath and heat Cas pulls back to look at him. Dean leans up, following, but Cas pushes him back down, studies his every feature like he's memorizing it. Dean has no idea what he's thinking.

Cas undoes his tie from Dean's wrist and loops it around his neck, starts to move away but Dean pulls him back by its dangling ends. He knots Cas's tie for him because Cas just sucks at it.

Cas only meets his eyes for an abbreviated moment before blinking out of existence.

Dean nods, because of course that's what Cas does. He feels a little better physically, at least. Cas-inflicted endorphins warding off the throb of his Cas-inflicted bruises. He manages to get his clothes on before he falls back asleep.

*


End file.
